Title: The Gift
Author: Norbooboo
Timeframe: about 8 years before TPM
Spoilers: minor, if at all
Genre: AU, drama, angst
Summary: Qui-Gon is relaxing on a peaceful world but something terrible is nagging at him. He returns to Coruscant and into his worst nightmare. Obi-Wan is dying.
Disclaimer: I really don't make any money from this, I just really love
playing in George's sandbox.
Qui-Gon Jinn was uncharacteristically joyful. He stretched out his great
length and could not stop the sigh of contentment that escaped him. He was
lying on his back in the red tinged grass on a slope that overlooked the
village. When was the last time he felt so at ease? Varrus was fast becoming
one of his favorite planets. Everything from the pastel hued skies to the
gentle people pleased him to his very core.
He supposed he should miss his apprentice more. After all, Obi-Wan had been a constant companion for the past four years. But the truth was Qui-Gon was relieved to have a break from the boy. He was a quick study and a good-natured companion, but the self doubt that his student seemed unable to overcome was wearing the Master down. He had battled to keep his praise measured and Obi-Wan from becoming too proud, only to achieve the opposite, a Padawan who truly believed that very little he did was good enough. Those closest to Qui-Gon knew that Obi-Wan was very special to him, more than just an apprentice. However, the Jedi Master felt it was more important for him to be a teacher not a friend or a fa...He stopped himself mid-thought. No! He most certainly could not be a father. How could he be an effective teacher if he allowed himself to think of the boy as his son? It was impossible, but still he...’No! It’s impossible’ he recited to himself, his voice sounding overly stern even to himself.
The Master sighed again and released all his anxieties to the force and was once more content. Obi-Wan was back on Couruscant, fulfilling required duties for the council and Qui-Gon was there on beautiful Varrus, his mission already successfully dispatched. It had all been so gloriously easy and without suspicion. Varrussians were a peaceful united people with a deep sense of respect and duty. The problem was they were growing past their agrarian roots and with the growth came inevitable pains. There had developed a rift in the population as to where the growth should lead them. Would technology destroy their planet's environment? If they eschewed new technologies, would outdated farming techniques and uncontrolled population growth destroy the environment just as surely? Unused to discordance, all sides immediately agreed to call in a Protector of the Peace. The Varrussians took Qui-Gon in as an honored, almost revered guest. The mission could not have been more simple, in fact it had been a joy. He simply taught them strategies and rules for debate; he showed them that disagreements didn’t lead to the end of peace but to the beginning of compromise. It didn’t take long before all sides agreed on some hard and long lasting decisions. Even though he felt he had hardly done anything, Qui-Gon was thanked profusely and talked into staying an extra couple of days. He told himself that he would have to remember to thank the Council for this. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let another sigh float free into that exquisite sky.
“Master Jedi Qui-Gon?” asked a voice from above, interrupting his thoughts.
Qui-Gon opened his eyes and saw Menenius, disciple to The Mistress. The Mistress was the spiritual leader of the Varrussians. She had been the one who kept the people focused on what united them, not what could tear them apart.
“Yes, Menenius, what can I do for you?”
“The Mistress requests your presence.”
“Lead the way Menenius. I was hoping to have a chance to see The Mistress again before I leave tonight,” he responded as he lifted himself up off of the grass. Part of him wished he could just stay on that hill and just wait for the force to claim him.
“Lead the way Menenius.” he responded as he lifted himself up off the grass.
*~*~*~
The Varrussians were very small elfin beings with dark luminous skin.
Qui-Gon followed his guide with his hands hidden within the sleeves of his
robe, taking in all of the sights and smells of the village. A deep
inhalation brought him the pleasant aroma of fromlorn, a savory stew, being
slowly cooked over a nearby kitchen firepit. He wouldn’t forget that smell
even if he lived to be as old as Yoda. The tents and dirt paths of the
village were humble, but only until you looked at the small intricate
details. The plants and flowers growing in elaborate patterns around the
path; the embroidered cloth of the tents; and the melodic music that
constantly filled the air were all woven together like a delicate spider’s
web. It all sang to him through the living force and a smile crept onto his.
He decided that for the rest of his life Varrus would be his own private
paradise, locked safely in his heart, to be taken out for his private
indulgence whenever darkness intruded.
A change in the force alerted him that they were approaching The Mistress’s tent. He knew that she was a force wielding being. Not for the first time, Qui-Gon found himself wondering what her midi-chlorian count might be. What did it matter though? She served the force, by serving her people. It was the path the force set before her.
The sweet smells of flowers and herbs greeted the tall Jedi as he reached her door.
Menenius bowed low. “The Mistress awaits you.”
“Thank you Menenius.” Qui-Gon replied, walking past the door’s multi-colored flap that the disciple held back for him.
When the flap fell back into place the tent became dark, lit only by a handful of flickering candles.
“Thank you Master Jedi. You honor me with your presence.” The Mistress’s voice floated to him as if borne on the smoke of the candles. She came towards him out of the darkness with her arms outstretched. She was tall for her people, almost reaching his chest. Her dark skin always seemed ablaze from some inner light.
“It is my honor Mistress,” said Qui-Gon, reaching out to grasp her hands with his own in the traditional manner. “I am pleased to have one more audience before my departure tonight.”
“As am I, Master Jedi, as I am I.” Her soul soothing voice was not much more than a whisper. “I wish to present you with the Malebrion, the gift.”
“Oh Mistress I cannot accept a gift. I am grateful, but it is against the code that I live by, that all Jedi live by.”
“Please do not misunderstand me. The Malebrion is not a gift which you can give or take. It is that which is already inside you, but which you do not see. It is a ritual that goes back many thousands of years. Only the strongest and most deserving have received it. In you I sense a great need for it.” Her voice had not increased in volume, but the force of it still worked its way into him.
“I am honored Mistress. Please show me what I am to do.”
Without fear Qui-Gon followed her instructions and soon he was seated on a soft cushion in the center of the room with his eyes closed. The Mistress extinguished the candles, while she began to chant.
“Malebrion tor siv anutlock. Malebrion sadfut mahjut. “ (The gift hidden in the dark. The gift brought into the light.) she whispered circling Qui-Gon, her delicate feet making no sound on the blanket strewn ground. Silently she sat cross-legged in front of him. She considered his powerful features, his multi-colored beard, and his lips pulled into a slight smile. She knew him to be deserving of the gift. She took a deep breath, closed her own eyes, and then reached up to touch his cheek.
When her fingers made contact with his cheek, it was like being hit with a bolt of lightning, his skin becoming electric. His eyes flew open and he stared at her in awe, unable to speak or even to move. The moments stretched outward for what seemed like hours before he found his words again.
“I don’t understand Mistress.” he said, his voice sounding desperate to his ears.
“You will Master Jedi. I promise that you will.” The Mistress released her hold on his cheeks. “I believe I have kept you too long. You will need to hurry to meet your transport.”
Her words snapped him out of his trance like a slap across the cheek.
“Yes Mistress. I’m sorry I must rush off like this.”
“It is all right, for I know that we will meet again.”
“Yes Mistress,” Qui-Gon repeated before bowing low and hurriedly leaving the tent.
He puzzled over the experience as he rushed to the small landing platform outside the village. Not much had really happened other than the jolt of electricity he had felt. Perhaps, he finally reasoned as he reached the landing platform, it was a form of enhanced meditation and since he had not been meditating it hadn’t worked as it should have. The tall Master shook his head as he boarded the republic cruiser that would take him away from Varrus and its soft red grasses and back to Coruscant and the stresses of his everyday life. He was more than a little sorrowful to leave. There was something nagging at the back of his mind, telling him that once he boarded the ship he would have nothing but regret.
*~*~*~
Qui-Gon had introduced himself to the captain and co-pilot and then
retreated to the aft section of the ship to meditate. The closer he got to
Coruscant he became more and more anxious. The force was trying
to speak to him, tell him of the future, but it was very difficult for him to
let go of the moment to hear it. Hour after hour passed in deep meditation,
grasping for images and thoughts that he could perceive just out of reach.
Just as he was about to give up, one thought came screaming at him out of the
fog. ‘Hurry, hurry home!’ it howled at him. Without giving it a second thought, he contacted the cockpit.
“It’ll be about four hours Master Jinn.” the pilot responded.
“Do whatever you must to get us there as fast as you can.”
“Yes, Sir.” The pilot obviously had a lot of experience working with the Jedi, for he didn’t ask a single question.
Next Qui-Gon made his way to the nearest communications console and sent a message to Obi-Wan. When he did not receive a response as quickly as he wanted, he was surprised to find his heart doing flip flops.
“I’m sorry Master. What can I do for you?”
“Nothing Padawan.” It took everything he had not to breath an audible sigh of relief. “I just wanted to inform you that I will be arriving in a few hours.” He was aware of how lame it sounded.
“Ah, okay Master. I was going to spar with Master Sil A’Nis, but if you have something you need me to do before you arrive, I’ll gladly...”
“No,no Padawan go right ahead. I just hope you don’t need any bacta this time.”
“Very funny Master. I seem to recall a few good burns that needed tending the last time you faced her.” Obi-Wan countered.
“Well then Padawan. I’ll see you when I return. We have a lot of training to catch up on.” Relieved enough to become the stern Master again.
“Yes, Master.” the student replied with downcast eyes. “Safe journey and may the force be with you.”
“Thank you Obi Wan.”
He ended the transmission and tried to reach the council. He was informed by Mace Windu that all was well at the temple other than a mission awaiting him and his apprentice.
‘Hurry, hurry home!’
“Stop centering on your anxieties, you old fool.” Qui-Gon said aloud in his most frustrated voice. He thought about rescinding his previous order to the captain, but decided to listen to what the force was telling him, even if it was just his anxiety.
‘Hurry!’
It was going to be a very long four hours.
*~*~*~
Qui-Gon descended the cruiser’s ramp, with his heart in his throat. His
friend Mace Windu was waiting for him on the platform. The force energies
swirling around the usually cool and collected Jedi Master were all wrong.
Now Qui-Gon was frightened and he quickened his strides to meet his comrade.
“Tell me!” he almost shouted.
“Qui, I’m so...”
“Obi-Wan?” His hands were shaking now.
“He’s dying.” Mace reached out to touch his friends arms, but was roughly shaken off. “We don’t have long. Come with me.”
Qui-Gon pushed his face into the other Jedi’s. “You’re lying. That just can’t be I spoke to him. He...”
“It just happened. There isn’t much time.” Mace answered already leading his friend into the temple.
Mace decided there was no point in arguing. Unfortunately, his friend would know the terrible truth soon enough. As they ran through the hallways of the Jedi Temple, he tried to explain what had happened, but knew that Qui-Gon wasn’t listening.
‘Lying, he’s lying, he has to be lying. This can’t be true, but it is isn’t it? No, no, no, NO!’ The words spun through his head, making him feel ill. Mace was speaking to him. The words Seltaris Syndrome, congenital defect, two percent of Denarians hung in the air over his head, but he would not accept them into his heart. Finally after what felt like an eternity they arrived at Master Healer Leeto Plujlor’s door. Now real fear gripped him. He would open that door and his life would be forever changed. He did his best to release his fear to the force, but it clung to him. He shook enough of it to open the door, open the door and accept the will of the force. However nothing prepared him for what he was to find.
Obi-Wan was lying on a bed, still as stone and as pale as the white walls surrounding him. Ringing the bed, were Leeto, Master Yoda, Knight Ki-Adi-Mundi, and another healer Qui-Gon didn’t know. They were each touching the boy, eyes closed, deep in meditation. He ran to his Padawan’s side, scooping up the boy’s hand and gasped. Obi-Wan’s skin was cold.
*The time grows short, my Padawan.* Master Yoda spoke to his former apprentice’s mind, drawing him into their meditation. *Say goodbye you must.*
Qui-Gon was now aware that his Padawan’s spirit had already fled his body and it was only the Jedi Masters control of the force that held on to the boy. They had done this for him, so that he would have the comfort of last words with his...his son. There was no point denying it now, now that it was too late. *I can’t Master. Please hold on to him, please keep him here.*
*Keep him I cannot. The call of the force is strong for this one. Goodbye you must say, or regret it you will. Release our hold on him we will.* Yoda’s gentle voice receded, leaving Qui-Gon alone in his darkest nightmare. He felt the Masters pull away.
*No! No!*
Then a distant voice came to him, unbearably weak and tired. *I’m so tired Master, so tired.*
*Rest, my son, rest and know that I love you and will carry you with me always.* And then the light, the spirit that was Obi-Wan was gone and Qui-Gon’s heart shattered into a million pieces. Through the fog of his now lonely meditation he heard a desperate wailing. The sobs were more animal than human and they tore at his soul. ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ he wanted to scream, until he realized that the sobs were coming from his own throat and he surrendered to them. He was thrown out of his trance into the arms of his friends, supporting him as he fell to the ground, aching from the sobs being ripped from him.
His son was dead.
Unable to accept the comfort or bear the pain it was meant to assuage,
Qui-Gon had thrown off the compassionate touches of his friends and peers.
He put up the strongest mental shields he’d ever managed and felt as if he
had been cut off from the part of himself that was wounded, dying. It had
felt so good to disconnect from the pain, to not have to feel the minds of
others brushing against his trying to heal him. It wasn’t easy to maintain,
but it was easier than facing the loss. He knew it was impossible. Even now
the living force called to him to accept and experience all that the moment
held, even the pain.
He pushed his turbulent emotions aside as he prepared for Obi-Wan’s funeral. He insisted upon doing this alone. He carried his padawan’s lifeless body to the pyre and laid him down upon it. He arranged the boy’s robe around him and crossed Obi-Wan’s arms across his chest, he noticed his large hands shaking as they moved his padawan’s small ones. He willed the shaking to cease. He was determined to keep his Jedi compsure. He arranged the padawan braid and stepped back. He looked at the boy’s face, taking in every nuance. The ginger hair, once again in need of a trim; the cheeks, still vaguely chubby and childlike; and the mouth, where Obi-Wan displayed his emotions. At barely fifteen, the apprentice had already mastered the Jedi skill of keeping his eyes impassive and emotionless betraying nothing. Obi-Wans mouth, though, had betrayed everything by the simple twitch of his lips. The corners curled up ever so slightly when he was laughing at some inner joke. They drew to one side when he had achieved a hard-earned goal. Qui-Gon knew the way he would remember that mouth was pulled down and pursed together. He would remember it because he couldn’t really place the emotion. Was it the just the studious seriousness, he had always assumed it was? Now he would be left to wonder if it was something else, something deeper.
An unwanted streak of sunlight swept through the room. The funeral would begin shortly. Certainly pride was not a worthy emotion for a Jedi Master to share with his padawan, but he could at least have shown Obi-Wan just how thankful he was. Thankful for sharing his life with him and becoming his son.
“Still with you he is.” Yoda had completely surprised him. The wizened Master had his mental shields firmly in place as well. “And with you always will he be.”
“Do you believe that is consolation to me now?” Qui-Gon responded coldly.
“Consolation it is not, truth it is. Time a Master needs. Time a father needs. Recover from this death you will.”
“There is no death, only the Force” scoffed the younger master.
“Correct you are, unless the death is in your heart.” Yoda’s words were gentle.
Qui-Gon shut his eyes. Shut out the setting sun, the mouth that would no longer show mirth, or care, or even sadness, and Yoda’s gentle eyes. He locked it all out, forever.
“Time it is.”
“Yes Master.” he responded.
*~*~*~
The room filled quickly and quietly. Qui-Gon watched the hooded figures
fill the room. Calm and serene, the Jedi acknowledged the pyre and then
Qui-Gon. Then there was Bant, her heart in pieces and radiating grief,
comforted by Garen. He could feel Garen trying to soothe her through the
force, but whether or not it was working Qui-Gon could not discern. Bant was
followed closely by Sil A’nis. “Oh force, Sil.” he thought. Her face was
hidden by her cloak, but he didn’t need to see her face to know there were
dark circles under her tear filled eyes. He knew she had not slept or eaten.
She was shielding herself, but he knew her too well. Her guilt spoke straight to his heart. It had been while sparring with Sil that the ticking time bomb that had been his young apprentice’s heart had failed him. There had been no way for her to know, but still she felt responsible. Would he have the strength to tell her later about Obi-Wan’s crush on her? The Padawan had idolized her and adored her even though she was a year older than Qui-Gon. It was just a boyhood infatuation, but Sil would probably like to know. Maybe he would even share the secret of his own affections for her. Obi-Wan’s friends needed him and needed his comfort, but he just wasn’t sure he could offer it. He couldn’t even comfort himself.
The Jedi funeral ritual was done without words. Silently, feeling as though he was moving through water, Qui-Gon moved toward the pyre a torch already in his hand. He took a long look at his padawan. “I’m sorry, my Obi-Wan, for what might have been, if only I had not been so foolish. I’m thankful, my young one, for all that you gave me. Farewell Padawan, Son.” Once the torch hit the pyre, it was quickly engulfed with flame as if the Force were as impatient to claim the boy’s body as it had been to claim his soul. He stepped back and let the heat of the fire wash over him. By the grace of the Force he would get through this. An infinity or two later it was over and Qui-Gon was alone.
He spent many hours going through the motions of “getting on with his life”. He prepared his notes of his mission to Varrus for the Senate and reviewed the research material regarding his next mission, his and Obi-Wan’s mission. He still intended to go. He would need to work. His thoughts flew back to a conversation he had overheard many years before. A pilot’s brother had been killed in combat and his commander had simply laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder and said “We will keep you flying, You cannot feel when you work. Work will save you.” Would work save him? He didn’t know or even care. He would work because that was what he knew.
When there was no more work to be done on this endless day, he set down his data pad, lifted himself wearily to his feet and headed to his room. Only partially surprised, he found himself standing outside of Obi-Wan’s room instead. He knew it was the Force guiding him, for it was not by his own free will that he reached out to touch the opaque energy shield that covered the entrance to the room. It disappeared with a faint sizzle. Stark and spare, the room was not unlike most other padawan rooms at the temple. There were very few items in the room that would betray an owner and even then one would need to know Obi-Wan to see the clues. First there was the unrolled vazuton and tangled blankets. While Qui-Gon would roll his mattress and fold his blankets before he did anything else, Obi-Wan seemed to have an aversion to organizing his sleeping area. “I’m just going to mess it up again tonight. It wants to be that way. Who am I to fight the will of the Force” the boy had once told his master. He had been so intrigued and baffled by the answer he had never bothered him about it again. There were broken bits of a lightsaber neatly placed on the corner of the desk. It had been the first one Obi-Wan had made, long before he was old enough or capable enough to do so. It had blown apart when he had activated it. Yoda had instructed the eight- year-old boy to keep the pieces, as well as the scar on the inside of his right elbow, as a lesson in humility. He had followed Yoda’s advice and Qui-Gon would often find his padawan meditating over the bits of saber, especially after a very successful day. He wondered how he could ever have believed pride would be a problem?
Qui-Gon depressed a couple of buttons on the desk’s console and the room instantly filled with a deranged jangle of percussion and discordant stringed instruments. This was Obi-Wan’s meditation music. The Master had never been able to understand what his apprentice heard in the Maltarquien story songs.
If there was any melody or harmony, it remained quite elusive to Qui-Gon. When he realized how much more productive Obi-Wan’s meditations were with the music he just learned to busy himself elsewhere when his apprentice meditated. Now though, he would not go away. He would listen and try to understand, try to hear it through the boy’s ears. He sat on the vazuton crossed his legs and closed his eyes. After long moments passed something began to tug at his senses, but he couldn’t seem to grab a hold of it. Then suddenly it was there, the melody, the complex harmonies and he found himself feeling the Force in an unaccustomed way. This was how Obi-Wan had felt the force. He was sure of it. It was not the easy comfortable Living Force that was Qui-Gon’s constant companion. His Padawan had once told him that it was very difficult to focus on the force. Qui-gon had admonished his student for lack of concentration. Now, though, he understood. The Force buzzed around him like a beautiful insect, inviting him to touch, to hold, but remaining just out of reach. It was frustrating for the Master, but when he finally grasped it he was astonished by its power. He spent a long time exploring this new perspective, everything familiar, but fresh.
When he felt satisfied, he slowly dragged himself back to full consciousness. Leaning back on his hands with a sigh, his hand brushed against something hard under the pile of blankets. He pushed them aside and found a box. It was a plain wood box with simple metal hinges. His first instinct was to put away the box, but his curiosity won out over his desire to honor Obi-Wan’s privacy. He opened the box lid slowly, revealing a large pile of thick papers. Qui-Gon let the papers spill out onto his lap and was amazed by his discovery. They were drawings, Obi-Wan’s drawings. He had no knowledge of his padawan having such a talent, but the Force signature that permeated every pencil stroke were unmistakable. They were Obi-Wan’s work and had obviously meant a great deal to him. The first drawings were crude, but not without some degree of artistry. They were mostly pictures of space cruisers, fighters, and lightsabers, the stuff of boyhood fantasies. Many more after that were of plants and water, from the temple gardens. While these pictures seem peaceful, there is something in the boldness and jaggedness of the lines that spoke of something different. The boy was in turmoil and hoped that the natural world would soothe him as it did for his Master. These pictures were beautiful and Obi-Wan’s skill had increased. Each petal and stem humble and perfect.
The boy had been drawing his whole life and his master knew nothing of it. Qui-Gon felt overwhelmed with shame, it made his face feel hot and his heart beat quickly and frantically like the music that filled his head. When he turned to the next picture, his heart stopped beating altogether. It was a picture of him, but not him in battle or as the ever serious-teacher. It was not the him as he feared Obi-Wan had seen him. The picture was of Qui-Gon and Sil A’Nis in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Their heads leaning close together as if sharing some lovers secret, and in the picture his eyes show the love that he had always kept hidden in his heart. His face alight with the tranquillity he always felt whenever he was with her. How had his padawan known? How had Obi-Wan, so young and so smitten with Sil, recognized the depth of Qui-Gon’s love for her, without even a hint of jealosy. This was not a scene that had played out in reality. This was how Obi-Wan had seen his master. The boy had accepted his master and perhaps even knew him better than anyone else. It was too much. The walls crumbled. Now there was no defense from the pain. He clutched the pictures to his chest and let the pain take him. “Padawan, I gave away the gift the force gave me. I gave away the gift that was you, my son.”
TBC
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